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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389888">inside your mind</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/meltedpuddles/pseuds/meltedpuddles'>meltedpuddles</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Umbrella Academy (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>F/M, M/M, This is an AU, about 17 in body form, as well as bringing leonard back for the hell of it, because i didnt want him to be too young, but ive kept some things consistent, dave is a normal guy and not from the war here btw, five is a bit older here, locations are just made up, so it does not follow the events of the original show, some slow burn vanya and five, you get it~~</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-09-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:41:00</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>3,017</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26389888</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/meltedpuddles/pseuds/meltedpuddles</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Vanya runs away from life in Las Vegas to Utah, where she meets Leonard, a seemingly nice enough guy to fall in love with while she's forgetting all about home.<br/>Meanwhile, back home, the rest of the siblings are struggling with the impending death of their father. Five, though, is nowhere to be seen.</p><p>(updated every Sunday)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Klaus Hargreeves/David "Dave" Katz, Number Five | The Boy &amp; Vanya Hargreeves, Vanya Hargreeves/Leonard Peabody</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>inside your mind</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For too long I've ridden around on my old, rusty bicycle. I mean, there's nothing wrong with the bike, so I shouldn't be complaining, but sometimes one gets tired of seeing the same, daggy, overused items. You know what I mean.</p><p>Overused like my shoes, which are ripped at the soles. I can't walk around in the rain without water clogging up my socks, soaking my feet and making everything uncomfortable. My shirt, it's my fathers, and I wish I could just burn it in a spitfire along with everything else that reminds me of Las Vegas streets, with bright lights and quick voices, rainwater not only soaking into my socks but into my soul. Things are different now, I swore on my life to it. </p><p>My father can't look down on me anymore now that I'm here, in Utah. Stupid Utah, where the wheaty grass tickles the hairs on my shins and the people laugh at you as you pass. Anything though is better than a tall bitter man who would yell at you about dust on the ground, a chair out of place. My outlook on life has always been slightly off, smudged and unclear. It's him that did that to me though, not anyone else here. Utah has a clean slate, free from mistakes and sprinkles of traumatic memories.</p><p>In Utah, I don't have to close my eyes when we pass the comic book store just because my father laid his hands on me while I was reading Batman. It wasn't violent but it had a long-lasting effect on my psyche. In Utah, I am free from him and you and all the other people who tore me down with him. </p><p>It's stupid to think now that I came all this way really for nothing. Sure, I may be free but I still do panic. I may not have to see the comic book stores in Las Vegas but I do see the ones in Utah and sometimes they're even worse, their judging window eyes staring at me as I ride my bike past. </p><p>Today my knees crack when I step on the pedals. They never did that when I was younger but that's mostly because I was a lot more active then. I spent a lot of time with Diego and Klaus. </p><p>I miss them, I guess but I'm 19 now and they're 19 too so there's not much of a reason for me to still hang around. The Umbrella Academy never accepted me, I was always the odd one out and I guess it will always stay like that. </p><p>My bike is squeaking as it goes over a bump in the pavement, my blue apartment building coming into sight. I'm having fun there, but my landlord's kind of an arsehole. Fun might be an overstatement. </p><p>The brick mailbox isn't nice and it's not cute but it'll do. In Las Vegas, it used to be shiny and always full of terrible, terrible notes. I guess that's just childhood trauma though. My therapist said I'll get over it eventually. She's a professional, maybe I can trust her, for once. </p><p>" Vanya! How are you?" A voice yells from behind me, I turn around quickly, my attention is taken away from the mailbox and instead to a short man with brown hair. I don't think I recognise him and I especially don't think I recognise him, seeing as I've only been in Utah for the past 5 days. </p><p>"Who are you?" I ask, and he gives me an odd look. I don't recognise his face but I feel like I recognise the look in his eyes. Reassessing his appearance, I notice he's very skinny. That can't be healthy, I think to myself. </p><p>"Oh sorry! I should have introduced myself", the man says with a grin on his face, "I'm the mailman, I'm just here to deliver you some stuff." </p><p>This doesn't reassure me, no, not in the slightest. What sort of mailman calls a customer by their first name? especially with such familiarity. </p><p>" oh," I say, twisting my face in a way that assures he knows I'm a bit alarmed.  He keeps his stupid grin on his face and hands me a letter. I look down and the paper is a slight dusty pink and the handwriting on the front is a bit Jagged. I can't think of a single person who knows where I live. </p><p>" don't stress," he says, " I was trying to catch you the other day but I couldn't, I recognised your name from the mail and I wanted to come and say hi to you." </p><p>He looks down to the concrete for unusually, a slight dusting of pink going across his cheeks. Life treats me weirdly sometimes, I think to myself. </p><p>I smiled back at him and nod. I don't know what to do for a moment but I quickly re-adjust myself. </p><p>"Yeah, my name is Vanya, but you know that... I guess?" I say, tilting my head at him, " what's yours?" </p><p>"Leonard! My name is Leonard," he says, " just your local mailman, sorry for being a bit weird just then." </p><p>It's a bit cute I think. His uniform doesn't suit him, the doll tone of blue washes out his skin, making him look dead and dishevelled. I was thinking of saying this to him for a moment. Now, Vanya, that's just rude.</p><p>"Well," I stammer, " it's good meeting you Leonard."</p><p>I think it over for a moment. He's nice, he seems interested.</p><p>"Do you want to come in?"</p><p>It's come out of my mouth before I can think about it. His smile falls for a moment and it takes me a second to realise I may have read the situation wrong. He still looks sheepish though, like a small deer caught in the headlights. </p><p>" yeah," he says, " that would be great, but I have some more stuff to deliver first. How about I grab your number instead, or maybe you could just add me online." </p><p>Laughing came to me naturally at that moment, and I grab the small piece of paper out of my left pocket and ask him for a pen. His smaller than usual hands pat around his vest, grabbing out a long shiny pen. I take it from him quickly. </p><p>"Law?" I asked curiously, reading the cursive text printed down the side of the pen. It reads 'Peabody family law', in small white text. So home-like and warm that I almost feel jealous for a moment. </p><p>"Oh, yeah," he laughs, "My mother's a lawyer, but I don't have much contact with her, so, I keep her pen as a bit of a memento." </p><p>His brown eyes look me up and down and I realise maybe it isn't wholesome.  Funny to think maybe he hates his mother like I hate my father? I'd never keep a pen with his name on it though, it almost seems like a disgrace to the Hargreaves name. So tacky.</p><p>He takes the paper with my number on it, smoothing it with his thumbs and popping into his pocket. </p><p>" Thanks," he smiles, "I'll give you a text tonight." </p><p>My smile shines back at him, albeit a bit awkwardly but, at least I'm trying. We said our goodbyes and I watched his short frame stumble away from me back into his delivery van. Ha, I guess Delivery Men in Utah don't use bikes.  Not that ones in Las Vegas do, but I hoped that maybe living in a more isolated area I would get the country experience. </p><p>I wheel my bike inside and up the stairs, my back and legs hurting just from the pain of doing it. These last 5 days have been rough, getting adjusted to a new life is much too difficult for me. A car and job would be nice, but for today I just need to stay sane. </p><p>By the time I'm in my home, apartment, room, whatever you call it, I'm exhausted. As I began to change I'm reminded of my little pink letter laying on my desk in the pocket of my shirt. I should read it, I think, but I'm terrified about what it might be. </p><p>My thoughts weigh me down on the bed for a moment and I think f*** it.  I grab the envelope and almost tear it open, my heart beginning to beat faster. I think of Leonard and Utah and how if this letter is from Las Vegas, my dream will be ruined.</p><p>The writing on the page is small, cute and very feminine.  I recognise it almost immediately, sickness washing over my stomach like a wave. </p><p>'Dear, Vanya,' it reads, it's squirrelly lines drawing my eyes in and almost making me tired. </p><p>' I've heard from a birdie that you're in Utah now. I found your address in your old book at home. Sorry for snooping, Vanya, but I just had to know. Are you ok? How are you doing? I'm really worried about you, Klaus said dad's getting sick but I haven't been home in a long time, and we all know that sometimes Klaus can be a bit... unreliable, to say the least. Anyways, I know you don't like hearing about Dad, but I think maybe you should come to visit us soon. </p><p>I miss you, sis. </p><p>Love, Allison.' </p><p>It's almost sweet, that she went through all that to find out where I am and write to me such a selfish letter. Allison should know by now that I need time to myself, I'm not into sacrificing myself for others anymore, I need to take this time for myself.  I turn the letter over and look at the address of the back, it's Allison's alright, I can tell you that much. </p><p>I ponder about writing back, but it seems useless. She may want to send me a letter to seem like a loving, great sister, but I know she'll just turn me away as my father does. God, this is stupid. </p><p> Taking a break from it seems good, so I take a shower, and aim to relax.  All I can think about though is Alison and my father.  He's sick I guess, so they say. I don't know what to think. </p><p>Sleeping was refreshing. Dreams didn't plague me this time, but thoughts did. I know I was sweating through the night because my good t-shirts are covered in large, obnoxious sweat stains. Not too different from me as a small girl, in the gym underneath the family home running around in circles just because I got yelled at to do so. I wish our father sent us to a normal school. I guess that's what I get for being the odd one out. When we're just a bunch of adopted children he finds no use for as soon as we're too old. Really, what was the point? </p><p>The sun is rising before I know it and my sleep-deprived brain is running too slow. I did sleep, and it's not like I'm useless without it, but my overthinking brain got to me last night, and I barely napped. Five used to call it my ruminating tactics. Whatever, it's all the past now. </p><p>A small beep from under my pillow distracts me, and I reach under to grab my phone. The screen lights up, shocking me for a minute. I blink my eyes, and feebly try wiping out some of the crust that gathered in the corners.</p><p>The message could only be from one person, with my contacts cleared and my phone number only for Utah. Probably a bit redundant now, seeing as Allison seems to know where I am already. Well, at least I tried. </p><p>'Hey Vanya, this is Leonard :) want coffee today?' the text reads. I can feel a slight smile creeping onto my face. I quickly shake my head and wipe it off.  This is stupid. </p><p>'Yeah, sure ' I text back, sending it before I can think about it twice.  I'm not sure if he's the type of person I need right now when all I have is an old apartment that's too cheap and a rusty bike that I dragged out from my burdensome childhood. Giving it a shot would be worth it though, even if he just wants to be my friend. I could use a friend.</p><p>Thinking about dragging other people into my mess was hard, I've already done it so many times that thinking about doing it again made me sick. My whole time as some little Hargreaves sidekick was just people drowning in my muddy puddle of mess. I leave them to splash around in it for a couple of weeks, maybe years until they get tired. Then it becomes all my fault that the puddle was there in the first place. </p><p>I'm thinking too much. Getting out of bed was hard but I managed it, showering for the second time in the past 12 hours and maybe putting on a bit of mascara for the hell of it. </p><p>When I get dressed I make sure not to put back on the sweaty shirt. After all, no matter how dirty that mailman seemed yesterday in his blue shirt, I don't want to seem too gross. </p><p>As I make my way over to Cafe 501, I think about what this is. I mean, what I'm doing right now. Allison would call it a date, Klaus would tease me ( a lot), and maybe Diego would give me an odd look.  I sort of messed up, with them. Maybe if the situation was different we would be able to lay around, joking about life. But I can't,  and I know that they know that, so I don't understand the letter. </p><p>It's whatever I guess.  The cafe has an almost sticky atmosphere when I walk in. The laminate floor looks like it's too expensive, but the wall of cups behind the counter look tacky and cheap. It's the sort of vibe you get walking into a dream, where everything is hazy and nothing seems to fit quite right together. </p><p>I catch a glimpse of Leonard sitting at one of the tables in the back. He looks too small there, with his back hunched over the surface, sprawled over a tiny black notebook with a cup of something or the other sitting right next to it.</p><p>I stride over and pull out the seat opposite him at the table, plopping myself down with ease, but with a tinge of grace. God, maybe I woke up a bit too cocky. Leonard looks up at me, startled.</p><p>"Oh, hey there Vanya," He laughs out, his smile reaching into a bit of scruffy stubble he has on cheeks. It looked grown out like maybe he hadn't gotten the chance to shave this morning, or the morning before that.</p><p>I laugh and say hi back. We manage to relax into some casual conversation.  It flows nicely and I learn that Leonard has only been a mailman for about a month. It's not very long, I commented to him, and he agreed. At least it's longer than any job I've ever had.</p><p>"My father kicked me out about six months ago," he says, " I was just getting too old to stay there anymore, and he was getting too old to support me. So, that's how I ended up here, delivering letters to every folk around town." </p><p> He pauses for a moment, and I tilt my head, he seems like he's so full mysteries. </p><p>"Why are you here, Vanya?" </p><p>Another deep breath and I prepare myself to talk. Properly. </p><p>"oh, you know, I just needed a bit of a change," I say, not sure what I needed to tell him the first time he asks. Do you tell someone your full life story? I wasn't too sure. Not many people asked, and the people who did weren't ever deserving enough to know.</p><p>"Oh yeah, sure," he says, "That's it? Nothing a bit more interesting about why you're here in Utah?" </p><p>I stay quiet for a bit and fiddle with my fingernails, picking off some stray nail polish.  I don't remember painting them.</p><p>"Um, I guess you can say that I'm running away from something." </p><p>"Something?" </p><p>Maybe he's not very good at reading body language, or peeping between the lines.</p><p>"Yeah, my family, life in general. Recovery from stuff can be a bit hard when you're stuck in the same old place all the time. I just thought that maybe packing up and just abandoning all those thoughts would give me some room to breathe. Work it out for me, y' know?" </p><p>It came out of me all out at once. Feeling a bit embarrassed, I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear and refocus my attention to the woman at the front counter. </p><p>"Hey, Leonard, I'm just going to head up and grab a coffee now," I say, smiling and beginning to get up. </p><p>"Oh, no, no," He interrupts suddenly, getting up and pushing me back down into my chair, "I'll go get you something, just let me know what you want." </p><p>"Oh, no, you don't have to Its al-" </p><p>"No, I insist, Vanya," Leonard says with a soft smile on his face. I think about it for a moment and give in. I guess it wouldn't hurt. </p><p>"Um, here's my card," I say, reaching into my bag to find my purse, but by the time it's in my hand, he's already gone up to the line to order. It takes me a moment to refocus, but I quickly realise he will probably pay for me.</p><p>I lie back in my seat and stare off for a moment.  Its nice, today. The trees look overly green outside the window and I feel taken care of.  This guy seems nice. He may not have all his shit together, but neither do I, so maybe It's what I need. If he has his own family issues he deals with, surely he won't mind dipping his feet into a bit of mine?</p><p>Yeah, sure, I'll call it that.</p>
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